


Firmware Update

by Amongthedeep



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bleak, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Financial Issues, Gen, Poverty, soft sci-fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amongthedeep/pseuds/Amongthedeep
Summary: Rebecca is poor, living in bad conditions and trying to go through university while trying to find a scoop to get money for herself and her money. She knows there must be a story behind the uprising, and she's determined to find it.





	Firmware Update

**Author's Note:**

> Finished in 20-5-2014, this is an old story that I'm fond of. This is a bit of a spiritual successor to Rebuilt Glass.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2i04094)

"Firmware update 10350, yes or no?" appeared on the screen.  
I hovered over the Yes, doubt riddling me, but I'd keep my promise. I clicked the No button, watching it disappear. The classmates around me giggled with excitement, running to the cockpits. I envied them. I was back about three hundred firmware updates. I couldn't go back on my promise. I felt too guilty towards my mother.  
I couldn't even use Twit, since it needed the current firmware installed.  
I liked looking through the log, checking the tweaks and additions to knowledge, manually learning them. I couldn't tweak my personality, or gain sudden interest in the LaLa Group, or the actress LoveLace. But I was interested in a person. She was not an idol, at least not the typical dancing, singing, sparkly type.  
Leona Vandarhart single-handed caused the uprising. Because she existed, we had choices; the government didn't force 24/7 cameras and holographic teachers. We weren't confined separately in classes and work. And she made it all happen while all those things were common.  
I had a non-healthy obsession with her. We studied her in Politics, from her name to her age, and the impact done to our system. But, there was one thing missing, and that was: Why is it that she is nowhere? There is no information of her current location, her previous home residence, nor any trails after the uprising.  
The internet had theories. One, she was in a no-name grave; others, she was on solitary confinement; some, she'd escaped the system.  
But which one was right? What really happened to her? I couldn't update and have higher probabilities of losing interest. She was no more than a footnote in history. No mention of her parents, where she lived, who fought with her.  
Why did they suppress this information?  
I stretched the black goop to the size of my forearm, checking on my favorite keywords. Pairings of Leona + X information.  
Nothing. Just a blank screen.  
I saved the names and numbers of those who proclaimed to "know her quite well, we were friends back in the day". I'd be lucky one day.  
*  
At lunch, I called the phonies. None of them were the right - lying through their teeth or spouting nonsense. I could've done better.  
I was tired and grumpy, hungry from the waft of sausage-bread, while dialing the last batch.  
"Hello?" a gruff voice answered.  
"Good afternoon," I replied, faking cheerfulness. "I'm calling about your post about Leona Vandarhart. You said you were in the uprising with her, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple things."  
Silence permeated the call for a while.  
"You know the cockpit station right in front of the orange building?” he asked. ”Go to the second floor, turn to your left. There's a real wood door. Meet me there."  
Before I could reply, the beep-beep resounded on my ears. I had to dig this one, it could be coal or it could be diamond. But after a year of nothing, I'd take anything.  
I was desperate.  
This was my entry-point in journalism, I was betting all on red. It was why I'd made the promise and chosen her for my finals report. Something smelled, and I was going to expose it.  
I wouldn't be lying if I said there was a thrill to stirring dead waters.  
It was better than passing by through college years brain-dead. I couldn't stand looking at Mister and Miss Popular's faces anymore. Call me bitter, but their good little "I'm perfect, flawless and handsome" shtick gets tiring after the second reenact, and I'd been with them since third grade.  
*  
Two blocks away and the orange building's bright color reflected through the white and gray buildings around it.  
My hands trembled with nerves.  
Inside the building, it was sterile and white. My expectations were of poppy colors, and colorful wallpaper. Bright colors weren't popular. The majority of buildings were either beige, white or light yellow – all very pastel, and non-committal.  
The door was made of a rich, deep brown, the top-most of it cased in glass, the insides visible. The walls were chocolate brown, either painted, wood or wallpaper. The room was wide and oblong, huge windows covered in ocher blinds. It was this secluded, jazzy, intimate atmosphere to it, that was both soothing and nerve-wracking.  
The bartender cleaned a glass behind a stainless steel counter. The air smelling of old coffee and a twinge of sweat.  
I approached the counter looking around while wiping hands on my gray slacks.  
"A coffee, miss?" he asked, his expression indiscernible from behind his black glasses.  
One of the tables overlooked outside, a draped red jacket on top, a steaming coffee beside it.  
"Uhh...I'm meeting someone...so.... I guess?"  
He smiled, grabbing a cup and coffee, presenting it with a flourish. I sipped it, eying the table. The cup was slightly touched, a yellow-brown stain on the lip, steam billowing up in long white ropes. I debated sitting there. The place reminded me of a secluded gathering, where underground skeevies would gather. I'd never heard of it, and I'd been here three years. Not that I was very social, or mingled, but this was an attention-grabbing place in front of one of the biggest hubs of updates.  
It was strange.  
A tall, big guy came out from inside the restroom. He was dressed in olive green and khaki pants, a buzz cut grown messily to his ears. Round glasses framed his eyes, which was odd. There was no myopia, it'd been fixed through surgery and genetics – even if the lower classes (me included) couldn't pay for gene modification.  
He reclined next to the jacket, coffee barely-steaming. He saw me and thumbed at the chair in front of him. I squared my shoulders and approached him, sitting carefully. I sipped the coffee warming my hands, the bitterness exploding behind my eyelids, calming me.  
He drummed thick fingers on the table, looking out the window, the street milling with excited people. His brows furrowed, coffee untouched, hands and arms clean from any scars. I'd suspected violence, death, bodies blowing up into chunks of meat. There was no evidence in his bearing nor his visible body. I drank quietly, watching the street thin out, people going in and outside of the cockpits.  
He banged the table, startling me.  
"That," he said, pointing at the cockpits, "is against everything we worked for, y'know? Knowing full well what it does to them, yet they keep at it."  
Veins in his arms popped out, thick and angry. Theoretically, it wasn't possible, the updates 'corrected' behavior differences.  
"Hmm..." I said, trying to find words. "What do you mean 'what it does to them'? It tweaks knowledge, things we like, but nothing serious."  
"Nothing serious?!" he said banging the table, coffees dancing, spilling over white dishes. "Ten years ago people became vegetables, others went crazy. It short-circuited people like freaking computers! That's why the uprising happened, because millions of people died over a hundred years. All of this is a big game - playing with us, molding us into what they want. Mellow cows to butcher, and we are the ones in the wrong. None of you little shits care. You continue upgrading, shouting at them: please rape me mentally. We went through the trouble of finding evidence, battling the news-outlets, exposing crazy, broken experiments. And still, it didn't matter. It never fucking matters, does it?!"  
His face pressed closer to mine, light hitting his dilated eyes, black swallowing blue. My body stiffened in response. Veins protruded from his jaw and forehead, thick fingers clutching the table, white knuckles stark against his flushed skin. Before anything could happen, the bartender appeared next to him. A brief pat in the psycho's shoulder, spoiled coffees set on the tray, and he left, his back to the deflating crazy guy in front of me.  
He brought fresh cups, this time a pat in the back, and lingered.  
I was sure I was dealing with a mentally disturbed person. I smiled at the bartender, fighting a scowl, and thanked him for the coffees. He swept his black ponytail on his shoulder, and returned to his place behind the pristine counter.  
The guy in front of me rubbed his face, hand shaking, the redness leaving. I cleared my throat, wanting to thank him for nothing. He beat me to it.  
"Sorry, no, I mean. We should've done this in the correct order," he said, a tight smile in his pale face. "My name is Jonathan Black, nice to meet to you."  
I shook his clammy hand, tight smile in place. "No problem, it's okay. Nice to meet you too, my name is Rebecca Warl."  
We stared at each other, awkwardness and tension rolling between us. A cough from the bartender made us sit back in the chairs and try again.  
"So..." he said, staring at the table. "You wanted to talk about Leona, right? What for?"  
I clutched the cup, to not touch my arm sleeves or fuss with my hair, and smiled at the way he said it. "Yes. I... I'm doing a report about Leona. About the uprising. Or more like, I'm trying to discover what happened to her after it. There's no documentary about her." I shrugged, and sipped the scalding bitter coffee. "I'm quite desperate, really. This past year, only phonies appeared telling bullshit. So...you really knew her? Were you really there, with her?"  
He sighed, drumming fingers on the faux-wood table, while scratching his head. "Yeah, I was there. Fucked up mess, that was. Not many would admit to their involvement. It was all very hush-hush and we aren't very much liked, y'know?" He sighed again, thumbing at the bartender. "Elio there was also in it, might not look like it, but he was and still is just as crazy. He's just trying to appear good."  
He winked at me, which made me laugh. Their husky laugh relaxed me.  
"Ah, I see. Yes, of course. Well, could you tell me more? Like, what really happened to her? Did she die? Is that why there's been no news about her since then?"  
He shook his head, brown hair whipping like a dog's. "No. No, I mean, I don't know for sure. I wasn't there, none of us were. Next thing we knew, the bang went out and the uprising happened. She was nowhere to be seen, or heard afterward." He covered his shining, moist eyes with his shaking palm. "I'm so worried, been for very long. She was our friend, a dear friend, she understood. That's why she was spearheading it all. She said someone in her family had the same thing happen. She wasn't a young lass like you, she was already in her forties. But she fought, she was marvelous."  
It sobered me, thinking of a forty year old woman waging a war, because of something personal. Had it been something scarring? Something so shocking that she had taken arms against it? The more I knew, the more my questions and obsession for answers grew. I wanted to mine him of every single drop of information, but Elio was there and much less friendly than before.  
"Would you please finish your drink and leave?" he said, so very politely there was a coldness to it.  
"Yes, of course." I said, smiling at both of them. I gulped it, not even savoring. I started walking away but turned back. "Look, I really am desperate. We don't have to talk about it, unless you want it and when you want it. Just call me, okay? I...any information, parents, family, addresses, numbers. Anything, it would help me so much. Please, just think about it and call me, okay?"  
Neither replied to me. I could feel Elio's penetrative stare from behind his shades and left.  
*  
While running away from the building and its crazy inhabitants, I could barely breathe. I wasn't used to feeling fear, I could have been killed, and without telling anyone where I was, never to be found.  
Of course, logically, I completely understood that wasn't exactly possible. The punishment for killing someone was death by fire. Remembering how I turned and begged me, though, sent cold shivers down to the tips of my fingers.  
I climbed on the bed and buried myself underneath all the blankets I had amassed. I still felt the tingly cold on my hands, but it was getting better.  
They seemed steadier than I thought, crazier than I imagined. Maybe I should just give up my thesis, scrap the report, pick something anew and fly from there. Fuck the promises I made, fuck everything. I felt like I was going to get killed if I continued on.  
The cellphone vibrated through the floor, making a horrible ruckus. I fell to the floor in a mess of limbs, the sheets hugging my legs.  
I pawed at it and looked at the unknown number. Was it the school? I hoped to god it wasn't the lack of payment these last three months. Mom couldn't couldn't strand me like that.  
"Hello?" I said, groggily.  
"Yo," a voice I didn't recognize said. "I've been thinking about what you said. I know someone that was an actual friend of her. Y'know, met her mum, her family. I'll take you to him, how about that?"  
I was silent for a few minutes, not knowing what to say.  
"Hello?" he said, and I grimaced. "You there?"  
"Yeah," I said, and almost kicked myself. "I'm here."  
"So...ya want to?"  
I was silent again, this was it. I should deny, make a different report. No one would care. "Yeah, I'm interested. I'll go." I put my hand over my face, not knowing what the hell I was saying. "Just tell me where and when."  
I sat in the floor of my room dumbfounded. I'd just fucked up all chances of escape. I was half between incredulous, half between excited. Hadn't this been what I wanted?  
I sighed, feeling happier. Today was going to be a good day for sure.  
*  
We sat in the living room, the beige couch only enough for me and Jonathan. The other guy hadn't said anything yet, just tweaked his tousled mousy hair, eying us with suspicion. He looked downright creepy. I gulped down my own saliva and rubbed frantically the built-up sweat from my hands. I kept waiting, glancing from Jonathan’s calm to this guy's shifty behaviour. He looked at me like I was a piece of dirty garbage, a stinky nasty turd in the middle of his white, yellow stained, carpet.  
I waited, there was no way I was going to buckle and start the conversation. They seemed like two over-sized dogs sniffing each other out. I was mostly amazed, and terrified, by his walls. I could see peeks of white from underneath the printed articles full of scribbles and underlines, some were photographs with circled people, others were just plain old yellow stained paper. It looked out of a madhouse, loony 101, and I couldn't see how he could be connected to Leona.  
How much could I really value and trust his words? I smiled politely when he glanced at me. He scowled back and rose, leaving us alone.  
I rose my eyebrows at Jonathan and mouthed 'What?' at him, but he said nothing.  
The guy came back, three little silver baseball caps in his hands and threw them into our laps. I peeked into its insides, noticing the tinfoil stitched to it and looked bewildered to both of them putting them on.  
"Are you serious?" I asked, outraged. "Are you truly acting as if this is some kind of conspiracy-"  
"SSSSSHHHH!" the guy screamed. "Not a word until you put it, go on!"  
I grimaced at him and put the hideous thing on my head, feeling like a complete clown. "There," I said, and fought the urge to give someone the middle finger or waggle my tongue like a petulant five year old.  
The guy nodded, a fleeting smile in his wrinkled face. "Now, I don't much agree with you bringin' outsiders but you ask a favor, I ask one in return too." he said, ignoring me and focusing on Jonathan.  
Jonathan slowly nodded, pushing his circled glasses. "'Kay, but first I want you to answer this young missus questions. If it's good, I'll do it."  
"Alright, shoot them, lass," he said, and tousled his hair.  
I swallowed all my built-up nerves, looking him in the eyes. "I want to know where she is, how she was, what exactly happened for the uprising to start, where you were all, what you discovered." I inhaled a deep breath. "In short, I want to know everything you might possibly know, and if you'd allow, I'd like to recor-"  
"No!" he shouted, banging from his chair. "No recording, just your ears, lass, or...they'll see, they'll come." His eyes shifted from the drawn back black curtains to the lights in the ceiling. "They watch us, they see our brain, our thoughts, that's why we have this here," he pointed to his cap. "We're safe here, now, so we talk, you listen. That's it."  
I nodded, angry. "Okay then, from the start of it all then."  
*  
I walked through the streets completely drained. I was still in denial over what he told me. I didn't know if it was helpful. It was only more stories of paranoia with some correct facts. Jonathan had intervened, correcting some parts of his tale. I couldn't trust anything, couldn't believe anyone. Because it was too scary, or because he was a madman, I didn't know. I saw Mister Popular in front of my building and did a double back, feeling too out of it to deal with whatever jibe he wanted to rub it in.  
"Yo," he said, with a pearly, all too fake, smile that annoyed me. "Brought you your transcripts. The school asked me to, since they said all the others didn't reach you."  
Oh, they arrived alright. I'd burnt them into cinders. I plastered a smile, just as fake as his, and nodded. "Oh, good! I was thinking they'd forgotten it."  
He pushed his brown hair, looking at me as if I'd never get to that level of acting. "Take it, then, I'm sure you're more than ecstatic to fill them in."  
I scowled, no winning against him, I didn't have the energy. I sighed. "Fine," I said and ripped it from his outstretched arms. "Now go away."  
He laughed. "Couldn't go fast enough, darling," he said, and half-danced away a few steps before turning. "And by the way, for your information, you look like shit and have huge bags on your eyes. I can even spot wrinkles on your forehead. You ain't getting youngeeer. Toodles~!" He finger waved and left.  
I gulped all the profanities I wanted to shout, gripping the transcripts defeated.  
In the roof of the building complex, a little shag was built to house a janitor or cleaning lady. Since this particular building didn't have the income to house a staff, they'd put it up for grabs. It was cheap and the best I could find for the meager cost.  
I arrived on top, panting and sweating from the stairs. One thing I had to give it to them, it was a heck of a view. The sunset bathing all of the white, beige and gray into a warm orange, yellow and gold.  
I sat on the ledge, the cold wind whipping while the sun warmed me. I let tears mingle with that bright, cheerful feeling, until they dried and I could muster deep breaths.  
I smirked at the sun, I was going to do it. No, I was doing it.  
*  
My cellphone rang as I bit into the mustard sandwich, the only thing I'd been able to afford. I picked it up, and spurted a cross Hallo.  
"It's me," Jonathan said. "The jacked up guy gave me the address of her momma, you in?"  
My brain spun, causing me to swallow the intact mouthful. "Yah, yeah, oh my lord, yes. Where? Time, day, just say it. I'll be there!"  
A snicker came from the other side, warm and full. "Naw, don't be that eager. It's prolly wrong too, he doesn't remember the things half-right no more either."  
"And you think that matters to me after a full year of bullshit leads? Please, don't patronize me. Just tell it to me straight, we'll go, whatever happens, happens."  
He chuckled. "Alright. Come to Primrose Avenue, just in front of that ugly statue, we'll meet. Not today, though, if you want we can go tomorrow."  
"Yeah, whatever," I said, annoyed. "I'll go even if its in the middle of a downpour, I would go today if I knew, but I accept tomorrow too."  
He laughed again and hang. I threw the cellphone to the floor. I was sitting in it since I had no couch, and grabbed my white notepad. Something told me, I was going to get more crazy, paranoid people who wouldn't allow me digital backups.  
It was funny, I no longer felt scared of Mister Black, the others disturbed me more. Sure, he'd exhibited psycho moments, but something told me the others were worse.  
I scoffed, shaking my head, wondering if I should burn the transcripts, send them down the drain, but something told me Mister Popular had told his triumph to the University. Now if only I could tell the school "I actually don't have any money and my mom hasn't answered any of my calls for a year now, but don't worry I'm sure she's just too busy taking care of my younger 4 brothers." Which wasn't a lie.  
*  
I stood beside the ugly, moldy statue of a half dolphin in the air, water coming down from its sides. The thick morning fog covered everything in a white embrace, making me shudder. I looked like a badly dressed mouse, the mitts of different color (green and blue), the frayed brown scarf, the orange baggy cotton shirt layered on top of three other (olive, red and yellow), the army pants that had been bled a mishmash of colors, and the dark blue jacket that was too small for me. I scowled into the mist, I could feel someone looking at me. Looking around was pointless, I still did, but I only saw my own breath mix together with it. I had a nagging suspicion I was getting as paranoid as my newest acquaintances.  
"Is someone there?" I shouted.  
A high chuckle came back, eschewing my perspective of where they were. Behind me? I looked around, and to my horror looked into Mister Popular's face. What was he doing here? I frowned at him, and looked away, I wasn't going to give him any satisfaction in-  
"You know, that assortment is just..." he giggled, and quaked with mirth, "...atrocious, really."  
I peeked at him, it's not like he could say much – he had no individuality, dressing like all the others, in the same muted colors. At least, I was colorful, and they made me feel lighter and happier. They were warm, the color of the sun, of the forests and seas, of the damp earth and the mildew. Living colors, and not the tepid grays, muted brown, black, white people liked so much because they were 'safe colors'. I snorted but said nothing.  
"You know, you're rather rude, here I am entertaining a friend from being bored and dead from cold, and all you do is side-glance at me like a ravenous dog and snort away," he said, and tooted me. "Either way, what are you doing here?"  
"As if I'm going to tell you, jerk," I snapped back, and put my gloved hands inside the pockets of my jacket, ready to leave. "None of your goddamn business. Besides, you wouldn't like if I asked you what you were doing here."  
He laughed, this time it wasn't high nor a giggle, more like a guffaw. "Oh, but I don't. I never mind snooping or being snooped upon, it's the perks of being as glorious as myself," he said. "Besides, truth be speaking, I saw you down the road and started to follow you because I couldn't control myself. Too damn funny, gurl."  
I rolled my eyes at the 'gurl' part and crossed my arms. "You're just creepy, stalking isn't acceptable. Besides," I said, and looked around him. "where's Miss Popular?"  
His eyes twinkled with excitement. "Miss Popular and Mister Popular, huh?" He shook his head. "Never get why you lot never even have the decency to know our names, you just scoff us away as milk while you take pride in being juice, but guess what? It doesn't make you better, Rebecca, and it will never do."  
I glared at him, getting hurt by the truth behind his jab. "And you think you're better?" I growled. "You're popular because you got everything from birth, not your fault, but you aren't better, either. You'll never be. All your self-entitlement is bullshit, you're popular because they want you to be, nothing else. Because you're safe, and she's safe, to be 'looked upon'. You aren't sheep, but you damn as well aren't much better than dogs lapping at their owners scraps!"  
He listened in silence, and cocked his head. "They, huh? The problem, sugarless fingers, is that I don't feel entitled, and I don't think I'm above any of you," he said, and shook his head with a dry smile. "You think you know everything, dont'cha? You don't even know what owners you're talking about. They, hah! Don't make me laugh, you're as part of the wheel as all of us. You feel inferior, and you want to be where we are. That's what's rumbling your jigglies, nothing else, so don't you dare pretend."  
I turned away from him, walking away. If I kept listening I was gonna start crying. I sniffed back the building snot and tears, and walked faster.  
I came back to Primrose Avenue after calming down, wiping the snot and tears away and breathing with deep shudders. I had to meet him, I had to know that address even if it meant returning to Mister Popular's jabs. I steadied myself as I stood in front of the ugly statue again, not seeing him anywhere. So, where was Jonathan?  
I sat on the smooth, concrete pavement in front of it and waited, feeling the wet cold permeate through my thick layers of clothes. Funny how the cold always did that, no matter how much of an Eskimo you looked like, it always wormed itself in. I watched as the 6 a.m. mist cleared slowly, the sky starting to dot with blue and orange and pinks, letting me see farther than a meter. Jonathan arrived at 8 a.m., I was in such a foul mood he did a double take and checked to see if it really was me. He grimaced, and shrugged, spreading his arms palms up.  
"I didn'cha know you were gonna be this early," he sighed, pushing his wonky glasses up his roman bridge. "Eitha' way, he wasn't exactly certain of the address, he's...not all there, tha' be honest, but I figure it's worth a try, eh?"  
I nodded, and rose, my stomach churning and grumbling like an ninety year old. I felt the blush creep on my cheeks.  
He scratched his hair and looked around.  
He was going to say something, so I cut him short. "Look, just, let's go and that's it."  
He nodded once, frowning at me, and walked from that blasted place.  
*  
Whenever my stomach did noises, he would stop momentarily, look back, see me scowling, and continue as if nothing happened. I didn't say anything, he didn't ask questions. I wasn't in the mood to go eat, or rest in a random coffee shop just to kill time and fulfill an all too frequently empty stomach. I needed information, that was the food that would make my brain tick no matter what my physical state was.  
We passed through identical, upper-middle class white streets, winding up and down as if never-ending. They all had their shutters down, looked glum (or maybe I was glum and was projecting myself into it) a lonely, abandoned feeling. It pained me seeing those types of situations, here were people full of possibilities and everything you wanted that was cushy and nice, and they neglected it.  
We reached an intersection and turned left, making me shudder with the state of that decrepit, house. The white paint was peeling away from the walls and from front door; the once green gate was a dirty grayish color; the windows weren't shut but neither were they in good state. This looked like an house that had been vandalized, which was completely ridiculous because before that ever happened, they'd get institutionalized.  
I gaped at it, while Jonathan ringed the bell, I couldn't believe anyone could live there. I lived in a crumby, crowded apartment, and it looked like an hotel compared to this place.  
The door opened after a few minutes, a little wrinkled face standing there, the few wafts of hair in her green scalp. She eyed us suspiciously, looking ready to close the door and go back in. I could see her dirty, once white, yellow robe around her just barely through the crack open. That and her beige slippers, was really all we could see from outside. She stared, but otherwise didn't open her door.  
"Madam," Jonathan started, sounding like a sheriff. "I've com- we've come, 'cause of Leona. You her momma?"  
The woman stared, then shook her head, so very slowly I could see each waft of hair shake with it. "Na ain't here no Leona, get out." She glared at us.  
"Madam, we wish no harm," Jonathan said, opening the gate and trotting towards her with a boldness highly improper. "I was there, this young miss wants to expose what happened. We all want Leona to be safe, want news. Please."  
"I said, no!" she shouted, and closed the door.  
Jonathan ran to door, banging on it with a furious red hand, screaming, "Please, madam, please!"  
We were badgering the poor, frightened woman, yet he couldn't see that? I started protesting, but his bellows could have risen the dead from their pyres (though no movement happened from any of the other houses around us). Next thing I knew, the woman opened the door, threw a bucket of water on him, catching me sideways in the process.  
"Calm down, sissy!" she said, her wrinkled hands in her hips. "Raisin' storm, you are. What'll the neighbors say? Come in, no noise or I'll spank you."  
I stared at the, what appeared, eighty year old woman threatening a burly, two times as tall as her, half her age man. I laughed so hysterically she waged her finger at me and ushered me inside. My stomached growled, making me embarrassed. She griped my wrist with a strength that couldn't exist inside that thin, scraggly looking woman and steered me to a sofa. She served us freshly made, divine golden pancakes covered in syrup, with orange juice. I wormed it down so quickly my stomach protested in pain, but it was delicious. It made my sinus cavity throb with tears.  
I'd never had home-cooked food, besides what I'd done and that could only be classified as burnt, overcooked, or nasty. She passed me an handkerchief. While I blew my nose on it, she patted my head as if I was five year old instead of twenty-five. Jonathan wolfed down his own food, but he was meticulous, and careful, in a strange sort of worship.  
"Naw, naw, "the old woman said. "You all bettah, and calm down? Wattha mess you lot do out there." She shook her head, a smile on her lips, watching us eat.  
Jonathan cleared his throat, lightly tapped his non-dirty lips and put his empty plate on the table. "You're a real wonder, madam. Delicious as hell, I still ain't used to it. To those tastes." He shook his head, his eyes getting moist. "Real wonderful."  
She laughed. "Ah, yes, with your appearance I coulda guess you were from that time. Almost good times, simple but despicable." She covered her face for a moment, and then looked at us with forced cheerfulness."Amelia da name, whatta about you lot?"  
I cleared my throat. "Rebecca Warl, missus we are terribly sorry for the commotion and...." I looked at Jonathan.  
"Yea, yea, never mind that. Just call me Amelia, I'm no longer a missus since long time ago," she said with no trace of sadness.  
"Jonathan, madam, pleasure to meet you," he said, rose and kissed her in the cheek with a dimpled smile.  
She laughed. "My, my, suddenly all polite, you lot. Leona ain't here, if that's what's you want. Since long 'go, nothing to tell you lot."  
I inched forward and clasped her hands. "Mi-...erm, Amelia, you as her...grandmother? Mother? Must know what happened, why she did it, right? I just...we need to know."  
"You lot need to know nothing, no more than you ever did. It didn't do jack shit, girl, it ain't making now either," she shook her head, and then nodded. "But yes, I knows why she did it. For me. It was for me."  
I stared at her. "Did...you?"  
"Go crazy, you mean?" she scoffed, laughing. "Naw, but...she did, and I nevers forgot that. That's why I live here now, her memory is here. Our memory. I should hate her you know? Killed our momma. But, surprisingly, all I can do is love and regret not being there, being too young to help."  
She tapped the moist from her eyes on the robes sleeve.  
I could feel it tingling, there was a story here. There was gold to be found!  
"Madam, I'm sorry for your loss. I truly am, but that ain't making sense since Leona...it was personal in a way that couldn't be it."  
She scoffed, wiping her tears. "You knows nothing, boy, you never did, did'cha? I loved her, so Leona did too. We weren't normal people, my husband rescued me from slavery, from hooking. She was broken. Vicious, disturbing, disgusting. Have never forgotten it, never, you get that? Leona saw it all, the recordings from the feeds, showed them to me. Surprisingly easy when you has a husband with power and your daughter smarts. it bordered on obsession, we watched everything. Every single file there was about her life. Things I didn'cha know, she discovered them," she sighed. "But what matters it now? It's da past, dead, gone, never to come. So let all of it go, girl, it won't make a difference."  
I jumped from my chair. "That's not for you to decide! No one knows, no one never did. If we come out with it, they will!" I shouted. "None of that went public, none of you dared, too pussies to do it. Even if I do it anonymously, it can change. It changed then, it can change now."  
"Change?!" Amelia rose from her chair, her face twisted with hatred. "Change? Hah! What change, girl? There is no change, never been, it's all bullshit, all lies. No more change than back then. Today you eat your little milkshake if you want, or if you don't want to, chances are you are starving in the streets but pretending not to. Hah, change! Good lot of piss of crap that was. Nothing changed, nothing ever will. It's not even their faults, it's ours, always been. We make it harder, smuggle green, cheat it, and then expect stuff to happen alrights, hah!"  
I was stunned into silence, the woman screamed, fainting into her chair. She trembled all over, her eyes dilated open, her limbs trashing around.  
*  
Jonathan and I carried her to the little cozy bedroom and laid her. It had been an hour, she was still deep in a sleep, snoring. It was like I'd entered a crazy side world, alternate universe, and discovered everyone had turned into crazies.  
I padded through the kitchen and opened the fridge, eyeing the food with lust yet feeling guilty about taking food from someone clearly unstable. Could she really not know? Where a most beloved daughter was? After her husband died, being left with nothing but ghosts and memories, could Leona really have deserted her mother? I didn't think it was possible, it didn't match my idea of Leona. A brave, strong, morally upright woman. But now...was she truly all that? Had I been duped just like everyone else because I wanted to believe? Perhaps, needed something to believe in?  
I sat in the floor, my back against the cold fridge, and could no more process or deal with it than I'd believed. It was true, back then, there was no signs of poverty or hunger, sure people with less money and less goods, less stable lives, existed but no one was going hungry. Or working hard to feed their children what they didn't have.  
Had Leona truly caused all that to come back? I searched my memories, trying to piece it together, but nothing. How could a measly firmware revolution, to cause a 'no' button to appear, have led to all this? It didn't even fucking make sense!  
Maybe I was in shock, from the good food and the madness around me, all I knew was this was not what I wanted nor expected. I wanted my hero, I wanted my story. I had to make this happen, it had to happen no matter what. But above all, it had to be real and true. No lies, fabrication, anything. But how was I to know anything? Who could I turn that could get me intel that I could get no other way?  
*  
Waiting in front of the university, was boring and awfully cold. I was banking on Mister Popular appearing, they never skipped lessons and were always on time. To be honest, it made me hate them more. I held the filled in transcripts, using it to tap against my leg, look at it, to disguise my searching.  
If I could get this story and publicize it, I would get a guaranteed job as a journalist somewhere, no matter my education, or lack thereof.  
He walked leisurely, confidence in his steps. To be honest, I didn't know his name. I was far too used to call him Mister Popular. All the people of my status called him that, only the medium-high caste called each other by their names, whatever they were.  
He was looking all innocent in his full white baggy clothes, pretending he'd just woken up and didn't brush his hair – but I could see it had been carefully tousled. I scowled at the thought.  
He saw me, his smile going from self-content to wry, his eyebrows shooting up. He definitely mastered the cynical expression that I'd love to punch out of his face. I smiled back, trying to smooth my face from unwanted expressions.  
"My, my," he said, giving me a fake bow, "what have we got here? Little miss Rebecca, you've graced us with your utmost holy presence~"  
"Oh, just cut the crap," I huffed. "I...want your help. Or more like I need it, but not here, you know, someplace...less crowded."  
He seemed puzzled, but shrugged and smiled. "As you wish. Though, how the mighty have fallen to ask me, of all peeps, for help~"  
I rolled my eyes and stalked off, not looking back to see if he was following me.  
It was already time to enter classes, so we were in a deserted patch of the University. He was sitting on a muted brown bench, a huge smirk in his annoying face, toying with the sleeves of his jersey. He tugged them, stifling a yawn while I tried to control myself and put my best face, so this could run smoothly.  
"You..." I started, and suddenly became aware that if we could be being watched right now (if I believed all the conspiracy theories) and stammered. I cleared my throat. "You...have connections...right?"  
He raised his eyebrows, but still tugged at the hateful white jersey. "What do you even mean connections, sugarless fingers? You can't expect me to deduct whatever sordid, lawful theories you're running around with."  
I sighed and actually sat beside him, his surprise turning into a sneer. "It's not...a theory, per se. I just...need your help...or someone with...connections, you know? Power."  
"Ah, the good ole power," he smirked. "But still, I don't know what type of power and connections you're even talking about, Becky."  
"Don't...give me strange pet names!" I hissed. "Just...don't make me spell it out for you. I need info on Leona, and about the uprising. I bet you have access to it, don't you?"  
He tapped his fingers against his, obviously lip-creamed, lips and grinned at me. "So now you need my help even though this past year you were going at it alone? Something doesn't smell right, luv, and by the way, do stop calling me you. That's rather rude!" He tooted.  
I sighed...and sighed again. "I don't know your name, okay? And I'll do whatever you want. I'll demeanor myself, I'll crawl on the ground, I'll clean your sheets, change your clothes, wax your shoes, whatever!"  
He glared with icy dark brown eyes. "You truly believe I'd ever let you even near my clothes, much less my glorious house?" he scoffed and bellowed with laughter, cleaning his streaming tears. "Fine, Becky, let's do it like this, from now on you call me Master Philip in private, and Master Hardjav in public. Ah~ That'll be a sight for your ego, eheh."  
I glared at him. "You truly have a disgusting, bad streak."  
"'Bad streak'...?" he pointed out.  
I swallowed my own ego and said it, "Master Philip." I buried my face in my hands, not knowing what kind of emotion showed: rage, or devastation.  
"Good, very good, Becky~" he intoned. "Ah, but yes, you'll become my servant and carry my things on the campus. You know, food, drinks, fetching, servant, those kinds of neat things. I'm sure you'll learn a lot."  
"I said fine, goddammit!" I raged back. "So help me, before I strangle you with that ugly thing on your body."  
He grinned so fiercely and nastily, that I knew I could try and get my ass kicked. I'd still try, so I grinned back.  
*  
I was pretty puzzled. We'd gone down some rundown, decrepit stairs on a nondescript hallway of the Uni. There had been a wall there, as firm as reality. He touched it, right palm up, and suddenly wham, not firm anymore.  
We entered it slowly, at least I did since he strolled like he owned it, I gaped at the place. It was a goddamn terminal, one perfect for hacking. Maybe worse. I heard the wall close behind us, which gave me goosebumps. He sat on the snob-like throne in the middle of the light blue shimmering coming from the screens, and turned back to me with a leer.  
"Welcome to the den of the powerful, of the rich, of the intelligent," he crooned. "Where everything happens as I ordain it. Well, mostly~"  
I rolled my eyes and inspected the room, I could barely see with the blue haze. It felt like that blueness made things harder to focus on, turning them immaterial.  
"Not too shabby," I said, trying to sound as bored as I could.  
He tooted, grinning. "Servant, remember? So you treat me nice, Becky~, or I'll have to renounce our partnership."  
"I know where this is now," I pointed, feeling smug.  
He laughed, and took a syringe from his jersey pocket. "You can't get out of here without me wanting you to, and this baby would erase your last 24h worth of a person, so don't cross me, luv. Don't cross me."  
"Fine," I admitted defeat. "It's amazing and all the colors of the rainbow of magnitude. Can we go along now?"  
He sighed, pouting. "You're no fun like this, meeeeh. I'll forgive you, for now."  
He turned back to the screens, tapping on them so quick all I could see was lines and lines of gibberish running down. I felt hypnotized, swaying on unsteady feet. I slumped to the floor, feeling like all those different screens, with different lines, were breaking my head. I chortled a moan, feeling like punching the douche. I bet he was doing it on purpose, considering his smile.  
I started heaving, feeling my empty stomach trying to gouge out something to splatter on the floor. I held on for five, ten, twenty minutes. Then the psychedelic lights went out, it rebooted into white and blue and Philip swung his chair around.  
"We're in, sugarless fingers, we're in."  
I stared at the screens. The seal, the signature, the pictures I'd never even seen of her. I was flabbergast. I skimmed the whole text until I found a little address, and I could have cried right there. Progress, legit effing progress! I whooped into the air.  
A clearing of throat behind me made me blush, and look back furiously. He had that disgusting 'I'm so good' smile etched into his nasty features.  
"You did it, you really did it," I said wowed, feeling like a complete moron. "I didn't even believe yet here it is. An address."  
*  
I was carrying 'Master' Philip's bag, and they were goddamn heavy. I didn't know why the mother-effing duffel was weighing so much, but I felt like throwing it at his head. We hadn't spoken since we'd achieved an address. It was the last place Leona had stayed at, not an apartment nor a hotel or motel, really a house. I was antsy to go, yet dreading the incoming resolution. I had a feeling that things were finally getting clear.  
He sat on an outside coffee shop and lorded over me to order his food. I grumbling asked for the yam custard with blueberry sauce, accompanied by an overly sugary gross latte.  
I served them on the table, almost giving him a fake bow but didn't do it, he'd probably believe I was for real. His eyes danced with amusement, I just knew he wanted to retort something nasty from that too entirely not-innocent smile. I rolled my eyes, before he could speak and barely contained myself from throwing the food at his face.  
Philip sipped the wretched drink and bit into the purple custard, the thick filling breaking out. I almost gagged. It was way too much sugar, I didn't know how he could stomach it. I dry heaved and looked away. I was starving, I didn't have anything to eat, and my stomach against all odds, still complained from it.  
"So, what are you waiting for?" he asked me. "Go on, go fetch food for yourself, Becca, I wouldn't want to deprive my servants from their righteous needs."  
I glowered. "I don't want any hand-outs, thank you very much. I also have my pride."  
He scoffed, twirling his fork at me full with purple custard. "Pride is a thing that doesn't truly exist, luv. I'm offering you, the less you could say is 'thank you, I appreciate the fact you're feeding me even though I'm half dying of starvation'." He laughed. "If pride filled bellies, yours would be obese by now~"  
I flushed. "I'm not prideful, idiot, but like I said. Pity and hand-outs annoy me. I won't die that easily."  
I heard his guffaw, the slurp of his drink and the smack of his lips. "Becca, you really are a dumb piece of crap on a sidewalk. God, I never expected you to be this narrow-minded." He shook his brown hair from his eyes. "I don't pity you, I'm not giving you a hand-out. Last I checked, you're working for me. Who would carry my bags to school, without fainting mind you, if you crap out on me?! Pull yourself together, woman!"  
I swallowed my pride, and grudgingly ordered for myself. I felt shamed beyond belief, at the same time a part of me was relieved. I didn't have any money, I didn't know if I would've at all this month, so I would have to survive on scraps, water and perhaps less than dignified trash rummaging. I'd done it before, I wasn't ashamed. I was alive, wasn't I? That was all that mattered. Then why did taking his offer sting so much? Maybe it was because no one had know any of that. I would do it at the dead of the night, completely bagged up. No one could recognize me with a hobo getup. Though, lately, there was this small institution that was offering meals and showers for the homeless and the poor. I hadn't gone there yet, I was far too ashamed. Ashamed that people would recognize me, pity me, scorn and tease me. I still remembered when I went to a class with dirty, full of holes, clothes and how mortified I'd been that they'd spent the whole day mocking and berating me.  
I eliminated such thoughts from my head, bit into the lemon cake and sipped from my bitter green tea. Truth be told, I felt rejuvenated. It'd been ages since I'd been able to eat either cake or tea, specially from a coffee shop. It quite cheered me up, and soon I found myself smiling -- even laughing a bit.  
"I see that food tames all the wild animals," Philip said. "Though I didn't quite expect it to be this quick and effective."  
I ignored him with an eye-roll and looked into the prospect that today, I'd be a target.  
*  
"We're doing a class dinner," one of the girls said, eying me from the side, and flashing Philip a smile."You'll come, of course."  
Philip mused, and followed her glare to me, flashing his pearly all-too fake smile. "Of course, we'll come." He laughed, seeing her lemon bitter expression.  
"B-but..."she stuttered, and then composed herself. "She doesn't have the money for the dinner, not for the transcripts much less for this."  
I cringed at her remarks, and saw Philip beam. "I'll pay, don't you worry, luv. It isn't a class dinner if all of us aren't there, now is it?"  
Her expression resembled spoiled milk now. "If you say so, darling, then of course, as you say." She glared at me, a pasty smile in her lips and left.  
They were all throwing daggers at me, their precious saint enjoying it all. I half-expected to be dead by glare. Philip kept laughing, though I didn't get what his kick out of this was. No one was going to try to socialize with me, my class system was the spoiled milk at the bottom. They wouldn't want to deal with the pressures of dealing with that "strange woman". Mister Popular only did it because it amused him and he had more than enough social acceptance to be able to fuck with them. It was going to be moot, but whatever floated his boat.  
*  
The person in front of me finally left and my number got called. "NYW2350"  
With a tight smile towards the woman behind the glasses, I deposited the transcripts in the drawer slot. She inspected them and nodded, smiling at me.  
I gulped. "I don't have the money for the transcripts right now. My mom, you see, she hasn't sent it yet but, so, can I do anything about this...thing?"  
She looked at the papers again and cocked her head, glancing at me. "Maybe, hun, but I'll have to call the Finances Department, okay?"  
I agreed and sat down, while she yapped away for at least thirty minutes. When she finally called me back, I felt a headache building. She had a tight smile to her face, though I expected it to be fake. They were good at faking emotions. One moment they were smiling, the next they looked heartbroken, then they would beam at the next person.  
"Hun," she said, calling me over with the papers. "He said that you should fill them in with the money and deliver them by the end of the month, otherwise, we'll have to cancel your scholarship. So sorry, hun."  
I smiled at her, it was what I expected. I thanked her, put the papers inside my bag and left, slouching from the weight on my shoulders.  
I rang my mom, I always called for the other person to pay. I sighed as no one picked up, then heard noise from the other side and a tiny voice answer me. I beamed, and slumped into relief, recognizing the voice. "Hey, it's me, sweetie. Anna, where's mom?"  
"Mom's dead," she said, sobbing."The burial was yesterday, are you coming home now?"  
I swallowed the lump inside my throat. "But...no one said anything, where's Timmy? Why didn't he say anything?!" I practically screamed, and heard her cry more. Yesterday, she had said, when I'd been so happy about the whole Leona breakthrough. Disgust washed over me. "Put Timmy on the phone, Anna, right now."  
I heard the shuffle on the other side, screams and shouts and crying. Timmy's voice surprised me, it'd thickened since last we spoke. "Timmy here, 'dat you, Becca?"  
"Ay," I said, sitting on the floor and fighting back the tears. I banged on the floor. "Tell me what happened and why you didn't call me, goddammit!"  
"Mum got crashed into by a pole, they tried 'ta make her live, but she na didn't respond," he said, monotone. "None call you, they na let us, 'cause they said you na deserve it with da school an' all."  
"Timmy, I'm going to get kicked out because of money," I replied, curtly. "Tell me who's going to take care of you all, otherwise I'll come back."  
"Na, ya can't!" he shouted, sobbing. "Mum wouldn't want it, so ya keep on it. She said you would do it, we believe in you. Aunt Mae and the others will send food and stuff."  
I sighed exasperated. "I only have this month to pay the bills, Timmy. There's no way I can access that kind of dough..." I breathed deeply, remembering I did in fact know someone rich enough to offer himself to pay for a certain dinner. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to depend on him. But, maybe, if I could really decipher the whole Leona thing, I'd get my breakthrough in journalism and get money and kick-start a career. "I'll stay till the end of this month, I think I have a lead, but, you gotta tell me if anything happens. Anything at all, get it?"  
"Ay, we promise, though Aunt Janua won't like it, she's going 'ta come 'ta clean da house and feed da small baby. Mum had another, a few months ago."  
I cringed at that. That meant now I had eight tiny little brats to take care of. With no money, no job, no prospects and a whole family already hating us because of Mum having so many kids and me. They never agreed on sending me to university. Specially since I could have just had one those jobs cleaning factories with them. But no, I was too good for that wasn't I?, they said and stopped speaking to me. I didn't miss them either way, though it did hurt. I shrugged. Now that Leona article would have to happen. I would blow this thing open, I had to.  
*  
I stood in front of Amelia's house, incapable of ringing her door. I'd come alone, I felt Jonathan took the conversations in his stride and I didn't have a say on any of it. I had so many things that I wanted to ask and say, but whenever I thought of her collapse I felt afraid. Afraid I wouldn't get my answers, afraid I'd get laughed at, simply afraid of everything.  
I rang the bell. She opened the door shortly after, her hands in her thighs. We didn't even speak, she just barged open the door and strutted off to the kitchen, it wafted with the smell of delicious food.  
I sat shyly in a kitchen stool, watching her stir the pot, putting two plates down, the cups, the jug of orange juice. I wanted to tell her 'I'll help', but I couldn't summon the courage.  
She served the brown rice with cheese and sausage and corn on both plates, dumped the orange juice into my glass and hers, and started eating. I meekly followed, feeling awkward and not knowing how to say 'thank you but no thank you', at the same time as I was eyeing it hungrily. I grimaced, and felt the cheese melt into my mouth. It was just so fucking tasty, tears sprung to my eyes, and I blinked them back.  
I wondered what it would've been like to be an only daughter, or having two brothers at max, having food and comfort and blankets, and fun. Just pure fun during the day, and at night feeling your stomach warm and comfortable. I sighed, and sipped the juice feeling its tangy taste in my tongue, cherishing the taste.  
Amelia seemed to eat quick and almost mechanical like, as if she didn't enjoy the notions of it. She finished way before me, tapped her mouth with the handkerchief and washed her plate and cup.  
"Well, wat'cha want?" she said, after plopping down in front of me.  
I gulped what I was chewing and washed it down with more juice. "Uh, I want to apologize for that day, and I brought a notepad. I just want to write down whatever you want to tell me, Mis—Amelia, whatever it is, even if it's not about Leona, even if it's just your thoughts. As long as you tell me a bit more, whatever it is, I'll be happy."  
She sighed. "I see, I do suppose ya're rather desperate, lass, I see it in ya eyes. I can only tell you one thing, I sold her stuff to some people that needed furniture. I was too sad to care for it, I'm sure you can do the rest of da legwork, ain't I right?"  
I nodded, and pushed the plate aside. "Yes, thank you so much, I'll never forget this, by my honor."  
She laughed, making me see the once-beautiful person she must have been. "There is no honor in this world, but go along naw, child, leave me be."  
*  
I contacted Mister Popular from a coffee shop, for him to pay. I didn't know if he was gonna accept it or not, but he picked it up.  
"Hyeeelooo," he beamed. "Who's this?"  
"Me," I replied sourly. "I need you to run an investigation to what this address and person sold, to pinpoint who might have Leona's stuff."  
Static permeated the call, then I heard a low chuckle. "Are you in public, sugarless fingers? If so..."  
I sighed. "Please, Master Hardjav." I groaned at that stupid name. "Happy now? Can we continue?"  
"Yup, so tell me and we'll jazz that thing up~!"  
I told him all about it, explained it perfectly and orderly like we're taught in our Journalism class. He yawned about three hundred times, and ushered me on at a way faster pace till I got tired.  
"I got it, ta-ta!" he said and hang up.  
*  
I was laying in the cold floor, trying to fall asleep at 3 a.m. when someone banged open the aluminum door and strutted inside. I looked over his fancy-pansy boots, his black sequin pants, to his silk grey shirt and groaned at seeing his stupid face.  
"What da fuck are you even doing here?!" I screamed, and jerked his legs away from me. "What da fuck?"  
"Babe, let's go, right now," he said and dragged me outside. There was an actual hoverboard there.  
"Where to? Why..." I sighed, exasperated and gave up as he pushed me into its cup shape.  
"To find a most wonderful clue, obviously," he said, and let the cup fly away automated. "We struck gold, now time to mine it, rip it open and drag it out for everyone to see."  
"So, it was a good lead?!"  
"Yes, yes," he tooted me away. "I did all the work, though, since you gave me a boring five page essay full of shit. No matter, we'll go now and come back with discoveries, or I am not Master Phillip Hardjav The Second."  
I laughed. "The Second? Needed a more pompous underline over it?" I hooted with laughter, seeing his sour milk face twist petulantly into a smirk.  
"At least, I have titles and shares. Not much you can claim for yourself, Becky~"  
I smirked back. "At least, I don't get big-headed enough to fill this cup with ego, Master Hardjav The Second."  
Beep, Beep."Arrived at location. Confirm drop?"  
"Yes," Mister Popular said, and beamed at me. "I think, I do."  
*  
The golden lights dazzled me, the hover-cup bounced away in the black sky. Philip walked self-entitled into that enormous mansion. People were dressed like they could outshine any glamour. They looked comfy, yet there was this shine and power to them, perhaps it was the way they decimated you with their eyes. Perhaps, it was their sovereign attitude, perceptible even at a distance.  
"Hello, are you Miss Mana?" Philip said, to a woman with a red blouse.  
The tiny bejeweled sapphires in her ears popped out at me, as she turned to look at him, her eyes almost the same shade.  
"Indeed, I am," she said, a sweet smile gracing her ruby lips. "And who might you be?"  
He bowed to her with a flourish. "Philip Hardjav, enchanté."  
He kissed her hand languidly, a smile gracing his face.  
"Ah," she exhaled, a smile growing on her face. "Yes, of course. Mister Philip, you've come. How delighted I am to see you grace these halls."  
She kissed his cheek, in return, red stain marking its place.  
"I am equally delighted, mademoiselle," he said, and grinned at me. "Now, remember what we talked about? I've come to check it."  
"Yes, well if you'll excuse me, then," she said to the staring people, walking away.  
I followed behind them, some people had the bravery to mistake me for a servant, trying to give me their finished glasses. I glared at them and followed Philip, my head held high.  
*  
"This is it," she said, an extended arm towards the desk.  
Philip nodded, and for the first time since I've know him, he grew serious. "Miss Mana, will you allow us alone in this room for 5 minutes?"  
"Us?" she asked, puzzled. She searched around the room till she saw me. Her eyebrows literally shot up to the stratosphere, and eyed Philip.  
"I assure you, we won't touch anything. But I've wanted to show this charity case, a desk made of the most pure lilac extract mixed with fern," he said, smiling sweetly at her confusion. "See how it glows a faint lilac color? It's because of its pure quality, it makes the desk shine and last longer."  
"I...I see," the woman said, smiled and left.  
Philip winked, and locked the door behind her.  
I looked close at the desk, but I didn't see anything outside of usual.  
"It was all bullshit, so hurry up and let's dismantle it," he said, crouching beside me and whipping out tools from one of his invisible pockets.  
We turned the table with it's legs up, hitting it to see if there was any hollowness. There wasn't, but I noticed how the table definitely was not perfectly measured. I pointed it out, which made him whip out a hammer and pounded the table 'till something rustled inside. We eyed each other, surprised, and as we groped it, a hidden compartment opened.  
"Gold," Philip muttered, taking out the thin white paper. There was writing on it, a flourished handwritten looking pretty. He read it, while I gaped. "JOEL."  
"What does that even mean?!" I screamed at him, and shook his arm holding the paper.  
"I think..." he said, and a devious smirked appeared in his face. "I think she ran away to Joel. O M G, we have to go. Right now!"  
"But...where is Joel? I've never heard of that city, or country!"  
"Never mind that, we gotta fix this thing up before she comes in because of all your screaming antics."  
*  
We left the party, Philip wasted from drinking with the ladies, and I foul humored. Not only had I been treated as a servant, I was treated as some kind of abandoned pet that got rescued all thanks to the good graciousness of Master Hardjav. Blergh. It nauseated me thinking of it.  
I shoved him inside the cup, and it sprinted away.  
"Where's this going?" I asked Philip.  
It was the cup that answered. "Home."  
"No, no, you can't," I objected. "You've got to let me leave before that."  
"Home," it repeated.  
I shook Philip awake. "Tell me how to maneuver this, I don't want to go to your house."  
He giggled, and went right back to sleep. I felt like slapping him, maybe punch him in the stomach and make him puke all over himself. I almost did, then remembered I would be in the trajectory of such puking, and gave up.  
I suddenly awoke to a lurch. I got up, my heart stammering, and hit the roof of the damn thing. Looking around, I saw Philip still wasted, but we had landed on a mansion and there were servants coming. Crap, oh crap, this isn't good at all!, I thought, but there was no place to hide inside the hover-cup. I sighed, and pretended to sleep, lest they try to think to cross-examine me.  
"There's a girl," one of them said.  
"That is so," one of the maids agreed.  
"They must be put to sleep," one of the others demanded.  
"Yes, that they must," the other maid said.  
I had to fight against my own body to not go rigid, or just sprint away. They'd talked like we were getting killed. There would be no way in hell they'd kill their own master.  
I got carried by one of them, and put in a bed, fully dressed. I felt the sweet softness of the sheets and of the mattress, only feeling like snuggling into them. They smelled like apricot and softness, so soft. I think I fell asleep again, because next thing I knew, there was a booming voice and it was darkening outside.  
The gold-red sun made all the light greens, light blues, vibrate and pulsate. I almost felt like I was in wonderland. I giggled, feeling like Alice, 'till I heard the booming voice and the slam of the door to the bedroom.  
Her gold ringlets shone high and bright, almost strawberry blonde, or caused by the sun doing it's wonders.  
"And who must you be?" she shouted.  
"I..." I tried to say, but she stopped me with a jeweled hand.  
"No, never mind. Look at this filthy state, and you, Mercutio, didn't even take those slogs out of her feet!" she screamed at the dark-haired servant. "Why must you lot not think of the water, of the dry cleaning, of all the expenses? This is not a kingdom, my friends!"  
"Huh..." I tried again, only to be glared into silence.  
"And now, he brings a skunk from a lowbrow position, probably knocked her up too!" she said, and started crying. Her mascara ran down her face, past her chewed pink lips. "Oh, what're gonna do? Oh, the infamy, the unworthiness!"  
"Look!" I shouted, tired of her tirade. "I'm not his girlfriend, I'm not his anything. And I did not have sex with him, don't be disgusting. I wouldn't touch him with a twenty-meter pole!"  
The woman stared at me, injure in her face, and threw her ringlets back. "Oh, please. As if all of you don't want to scale the ladder because of your precious multi-patterned family being so big you need a rich kingdom to feed them." She sighed. "Whatever. Dress her, at least, and clean the bed. Then bring her, and him, to Philip's and my room."  
She strode off, while the servants took me away.  
*  
The bath was pretty glorious, it massaged, I'd never felt so good in my entire life. They brought me some strange dresses, high-couture or whatever they called it, which I refused to wear. I wanted my own, I told them, or I'd go out with a towel to meet their masters. They paled and ran away. Thirty minutes later, there was my clothes clean, and strangely mended into looking brand new, though they did not give me back my boots. They gave me some slippers, because the boots would wreck their precious carpets. I rolled my eyes at that comment, but wore them. They'd be gone pretty soon.  
It was pretty bizarre to see Philip look so...spruced. He had sapphires dangling down his ears, there was simple gold rings in his fingers; a bracelet so thick it was giving me envy; a white gold necklace in his throat, all overlaid over his silk, patterned in blue and silver, clothes. He looked good, yet so strange. He'd usually look pretty...normal, I suppose would be the word. A little bit spruced with some colorful accessories, but otherwise, normal. He looked like a walking mine. Strangely, his father was a pretty plain person. More strangely, Philip did not look like his mother or father. His father had black hair and blue eyes. Philip had brown eyes and light-brown eyes. He looked like a spotted mutt compared to them.  
"Nice to meet you, darling," his father said, and shook my hand. "Don't worry, Gracelle puts a lot of things in her head, so don't pay attention to what she says."  
He laughed, with a twinkle in his eyes, while Gracelle huffed. "You know I'm right, though."  
I got steered into sitting down in one big, plush, comfy chair that was a deep bordeaux, feeling like an interrogation was about to start. Thankfully, Philip Sr. did not assume that I was trying to be a gold digger towards his son and instead focused on him.  
"I heard you and this lady went into Mana's party and wrecked her expensive 'pure lilac extract' desk," he said, with a smile. "I wonder why."  
"Father, it is simple," Philip said, pompously. "Because I wanted and could."  
That struck me as very stuck-up, but Gracelle seemed to smile and nod, while his father only slightly shook his head.  
"Hah," Philip Sr. said."I suppose kids must have their secrets."  
Gracelle shot him a venomous look. "Of course, besides, he's far too adult to be allowed such things."  
"We must leave now," Philip said, beckoning me with his hand. "Toodles~"  
He dragged me out, at a fast pace, out his parents room. Out his mansion, into his cup and immediately took off. I felt a bit dazed, and checked my head, to see if it was still intact.  
"Phew," he exhaled. "They almost got you."  
"Huh?"  
"I knew from your dumb face that you'd tell them aaall about it," he shook his head, shoving a piece of candy in my hand. "Stupid girl."  
I frowned, but ate it, realizing I was in fact hungry. Ravenously hungry. I sighed, and set back against the cup. I think I dozed off, I heard his half-sentence.  
"-if they knew, it'd cause a riot," he said, sighing. "We're here, look out."  
I looked out, to my astonishment it was night. More than that, it was a completely different town. Looking back at Philip, the cup shook, and threw us to the floor. Getting up from the damp, grassy floor, I eyed the town. No, a village. No, perhaps a suburban area? It felt too big for a village, too small for a town.  
I followed Philip's crunch through the field, my breath ragged. It'd been awhile since I'd done any decent physical exercise, and he was damn fast.  
"This -hah-, "he shuddered, while exhaling, "is JOEL."  
Looking at the people walking around with baskets with food, little runts at their feet, I almost felt out of place – no, out of period. They gave us apples, sweet, succulent apples, that ran down my throat with blissful stickiness. Philip declined, and gave it to me – probably because I was eyeing it like a ravenous beast.  
He so calmly, and politely asked for Leona, that I got stunned into silence when the brunette woman pointed towards the left-most little cottage. Walking the trail in a daze, I could almost weep in joy. And also in sorrow. It was ending, my big adventure of the past year was ending. All the people I'd met because of Leona, it all culminated here.  
*  
She opened the door with a gentle smile etched into her face. Leona looked nothing like I'd imagined her, but then, I suppose, few ever do. She welcomed us in with laughter, putting loaves with jam on the apricot table. The warm earth filled the house with a bittersweet musk, welcoming yet reminding me of the smell stuck in my mother's hair and clothes. I teared up at that, hiding my face, suddenly I was hit by all these feelings. Conflicting feelings.  
She sat in front of us, her hands carefully laid over her knitting, and heard us. I don't remember what we said, what we asked. It wouldn't matter either way, nothing of what we said mattered. It was what she had to tell us that was crucial to me. She brewed us tea, filled with strawberry jam, after we'd finished our tale, perhaps our lack of tale. Sipping the warm, sweet substance reminded me of Amelia – of her sweet pancakes, and in the end, of her help to find her daughter. We'd not even told her anything. I felt like an insect. I'd thought of myself, and myself only. Yet there was a mother that had every right to this knowledge, to having come here with us. Yet we hadn't.  
"We felt it was our right to fight against what wasn't right," Leona said, after the silence. "And it wasn't right, you know? Making people into experiments – no, perhaps that is not the right word. It wasn't an experiment, but it couldn't be tested in animals. There were casualties, by-products of the treatment. It was very sad, very gruesome."  
"It was, in the end, worthless," she said, while knitting. Tears huddled in the corners of her eyes. "I was full of anger, I'm sure you've felt it, Rebecca, you've the eyes of someone extremely guarded. They're the eyes of the prey, the eyes of someone fighting back against their own nature. I've seen them lots and lots of time."  
I felt miffed at her comments, but strangely could not rebuke them. "Where is JOEL? What is this place?"  
It was not Leona that answered, instead it was Philip. "This is a treatment center, I guess that's what's written in the papers. But really, it is a place for deranged, or mentally off people. A nice, quiet, reserve. You know, how the animals have treatment centers for endangered species? It's something of the sort."  
"But...but why would you, of all people, be here?"  
"Because I also went crazy," Leona replied. "Not to the extent that some people did, but you know, the possibility is always there. Extreme situations can trigger it. It's hard to fight against it. It took me twenty years to feel comfortable in my own skin, these past years I've been feeling pretty good. But you never know, can never know, who'll snap, if I'll snap."  
Looking into Philip's eyes, seeing their solemnity, I understood it wasn't a joke. But it sure sounded like one. Leona looked fine, acted fine, I hadn't researched the crazy periods – heck, Jonathan hadn't been as off as I'd thought. Could they all be fighting it? Fighting whatever was trying to get hold of their processing faculties, in order not to snap? Leona of all people...my Leona. I was stunned into silence.  
"I fought for my Mom," Leona said, drinking her tea while cringing. "I'd seen the tapes, knew the records. It wasn't difficult breaking into the government's files and reports. They hadn't thought it would trigger those types of severe mental damages, they were trying to fight it. That's why they decided on the firmware updates. If anything went wrong, they could 'patch' it."  
"But never fully," Philip interjected. "Once there's that hole, it'll never disappear, and the person will always need to be watched and surveillance in case of suicide or murder."  
Leona nodded. "Yes, so I thought it should be fought. Why try to mask the problem? Why not try to deal with it, explain it?" She sighed. "That was our campaign. There was no war, there was no fight for control with the government. We only wanted answers, we wanted solutions, not a band-aid."  
"The population fought against you," Philip said, matter of fact. "They were scared of what you were saying. You hijacked the news and broadcasted the truth. A lot of people actually snapped and came at you, and your friends, trying to murder you."  
"Yes," Leona laughed. "The government said they'd agree with our proposed 'choice', as long we backed away and went back into obscurity. A lot of people got sent into facilities, until the new firmware came out, patched some problems, some got medicated for their 'anxiety'."  
"And you just accepted it all?!" I asked, angered. "How could you? How could you just choose to come to this facility, not even tell your mother, and then-"  
"And what choice did I have?!" Leona said. "Do you not perhaps even think that I wanted to lead a normal life? But I snapped, I actually almost murdered one of the people assaulting me! I never felt so much shame, such lack of strength over my own faculties. So yes, I did leave. I didn't want to murder my mom too!"  
Leona huffed, and cleaned her tears. "I apologize, as you can see, I'm still prone to anger bouts, when baited." Leona gave me a bitter smile that made me feel the most shameful ever. "I did leave her where I was, I thought she'd discovered it in no time. It was the desk of my room. I guess that was for naught, but it is what it is. Are you happy now that you know all of it?"  
"Are you happy?" I asked.  
"Yes," she said, and smiled radiantly. "I do. I feel like a load got out of me. Perhaps, I should have said the truth more times. But I am happy with what I have, do you?"  
I nodded, fighting back the tears. "Yes, I am," I said and looked at Philip. "You knew all about this, so why come?"  
He laughed, and shoved his untouched toast into my plate. "Because I didn't, not 'till you told me, I hadn't know. Then, it was simple, really, to know. I wanted to meet you, to see what you were like, to know the truth from it's mouth – no matter how delusional. You surprised me."  
"I am still coherent, the drugs do help." Leona laughed. "I assume Jonathan and Elios also take them, and all the others. Though we do have bouts of insanity."  
"Did your mo-" I started, but shut up as I saw Philip's stern look. "Never mind. I'll publish all this, I feel it deserves to be brought to light. Besides, perhaps you'll still make a dent on today’s minds."  
*  
She waved us goodbye, while we walked away in silence. I could have asked more things, but there was no thirst left in me. I felt like all my questions, my anger, my desperation finally had been channelized and spent. It took us another day to arrive home, at least to his home, which I quickly left after getting my boots back. I strolled down the midnight paths to my home, and penned it all and this diary. Feeling like I had to face-roll over all this information and happenings until it made some kind of sense. I fought against myself, perhaps my final indecision and insecurity, over trying to bank high with this information.  
In the end, I decided I had a family to take care of, and school fees to pay. I sent off a batch full of data to one of the big magazines. Even if that one didn't buy, I'd still raise at least a few interested eyes in my future career.

Philip  
"Firmware update 10351, yes or no?"  
I hovered, feeling the weight of Leona, of the truth on my mind, and pressed no. I walked down the hatches, where I stopped. Rebecca came out of one, her eyes shining with the new firmware update. I quirked an eyebrow at her, feeling betrayed.  
"I never said I didn't like firmware," she said. "In that, you were right."  
She left me stranded, staring at her proud back, while my cellphone beeped. I looked at it, finding our findings plastered in the news. Leona's location, her involvement, the patches, the leaks. All of it, right there, for everyone to see and know.  
Yet people walked past me, smiling and giggling. Unaware, and uncaring, from such things. Their minds far away from such thoughts, from looking at it. It was a passing thing, a fad, nothing that mattered.  
We, after all, never mattered.

>Log Out


End file.
